


wear it like a message

by starvels (dinosaur)



Series: Cap-IM Bingo [3]
Category: Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Casual Discussion of Violence, Dog Tags, Domestic Avengers, Endearments, Ensemble Cast, Established Relationship, Gentle Kissing, Hand & Finger Kink, Jewelry, Kink Meme, Kissing, Light BDSM, M/M, Neck Kissing, Other, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Public Display of Affection, Relationship Negotiation, Rings, Rough Kissing, Shower Sex, Stony Bingo 2017, Trans Character(s), all kinds of kissing really lmfao these losers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-11-29 05:36:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11434245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosaur/pseuds/starvels
Summary: Steve and Tony have some negotiations about how to wear rings and dog tags on your person when you’re a superhero badass wearing skin tight body armor.Also, they kiss a lot.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt "tony gives steve a ring and steve gives tony his dogtags" on the cap_ironman kink meme. combining it with my bingo space for "shower/bath sex." 
> 
> also this is another example of /smudges my oil pastel hands all over timelines and team lineups/ so. ignore sense there.
> 
> title from ['mine' by pheobe ryan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5x2N1PinWTI) and rly is The Feel of the fic ya

 

 

Steve bowls through the lot of the doombots like they’ve done him even more personal harm than usual. Tony watches from the perimeter line he’s holding with a bit of awe and a lot more trepidation. Clean-up is awkward. Steve short-tempered and brisk with the police, and even more so with Tony. When Steve clears the team from the quinjet the second they land back at the mansion, it feels inevitable.

“Look,” Tony says, trying to head him off.

“No,” Steve shoves the button for the ramp reset. A hairline crack blooms along the plastic.

They wait in silence until the last whirring stops and they’re in the semi-darkness of the jet. Then, Steve strips off his helmet and tosses it haphazardly, walking forward. He pushes Tony backwards into the wall where the flight supports hang. The suit helmet comes off next, leaving Tony staring at Steve.

Comms better be off, Tony thinks vaguely.

The first kiss is harsh, too much teeth.

Tony groans, tilting to try and line them up, hums when Steve allows it and the kiss shifts smoother. Steve’s shorter than Tony, in gear, but it doesn’t seem like it. Here, he looms, trapping Tony against the wall, shoving his fingers in the armor’s clasps too hard and biting down on Tony’s lips until they feel bruised.

Tony would say _ow_ , but he’s enjoying it too much.

Still though.

“Is this angry sex?” Tony asks, pulling back to catch his breath.

Steve drops the shield off his back onto the floor of the quinjet with a thud and pulls the catch for the groin piece of the armor, hands jerking Tony forward against Steve’s still uniformed body.

“This is most definitely not angry sex,” Steve says.

“Well,” Tony says, shucking the gauntlets so he can get at the hidden seams of Steve’s uniform, “It’s certainly got that angry sex vibe.” The front flap peels down off Steve’s sweaty skin, “What sex category would you put it in?”

Steve grunts as Tony gets his fingers on his bare chest, fingernails digging in.

“It’s _good_ sex, shut up."

Tony laughs, and lets Steve have his delightful way with his body.

But, as Steve gets hung up muttering curses at the under-suit, he thinks about it. Steve’s not angry about the idea of a ring. He rolls the thought over his tongue, sucks a kiss to Steve’s collar because it’s right there.

What if.

Steve’s turned on by the idea of a ring?

Tony pauses.

Steve is _turned on by the idea of a ring._

“You want a ring. This is ring-want sex,” he gasps out, as Steve finally gets his hand into the under-suit.

Steve’s cheeks go red, a delicate painting of raspberry.

And Tony pulls him close and kisses at the blush, unable to stop from laughing.

Scowling, Steve pinches at his sides.

The quinjet is gonna need so much windex.

 

\---

 

He really didn’t plan it, is the thing.

It’s just that it was a Wednesday and Tony had been up for 40 hours and Jessica, Carol and him were in the dining room commiserating in an ex-alcoholic sort of way and he was tired and Steve’d been gone on a mission for 3 days and it wasn’t Tony’s idea to give the man brilliant, ridiculous _azure_ eyes.

“God’s fault,” Tony mutters around his coffee mug.

They laugh at him.

“Are you saying you think about the fact,” Jessica says, voice muffled under hair and arms, “that if you and Steve had babies, they’d have crazy blue eyes.”

Jessica is 4 months pregnant now and showing, so any baby thoughts are topic relevant. That’s the excuse Tony is going with.

“Yeah,” Carol says, “People mag did a feature about it a year back, where they interviewed _him_.” She chugs a glass of water.

Tony grins against his mug, lowers it just in case someone walks past, so they see his smugness.

“That the year,” Jessica Drew says, loftily from the doorway, “there was a debate about whether Cap, as a blond looks better in gold, or as a baby-blue looks better in silver?”

Tony snorts. They didn’t interview him for that one, which was a shame.

“Got an opinion, Stark?” Jessica Jones asks, tilting her head sideways to rip a chunk out of a waffle with her teeth.

“Yeah, settle the great debate no one cares about,” Carol rolls her eyes, walking out of the kitchen already, sliding her hand into Jessica’s. “We’re to the gym. Tell the short angry one, when he drags himself in.”

Maturely, Tony sticks his tongue out at her.

She cocks a finger at him and the Jesses laugh.

“It’s neither,” he huffs after a minute.

“Yeah?” Jessica does apathetic but attentively bored really well.

“Yeah,” Tony continues anyways, staring at his coffee, “He’ll look best in dark metal, with highlights. Tungsten, carbon fiber weave. Rose gold, of course, but not too much, just a delicate paneling with the carbon, accent. He likes solid grip, so not a glossy finish. It wouldn’t break,” Tony stirs the coffee with an absent finger. “It’s got some cool mods, not that it needed it, already gorgeous, but, you know Steve’s breaking his gear on heads every other week and I wanted to test –”

There’s a wet choking sound. Tony jerks his eyes up from his coffee.

Steve’s in the kitchen doorway, staring at Tony. He meets Tony’s startled glance with suspiciously red rimmed eyes.

“I –” Tony tries, then cuts himself off.

They all sit in silence for a moment.

“Wow,” Jessica says into the tension, dry, “You haven’t thought about it at all, have you.”

Helpless against the nerves pressing up against his spine, Tony laughs, nearly chokes.

If Steve clutches at the door frame any harder, it’ll come off in his hands. He opens his mouth and suddenly every ident card in the room goes off at once. The alarm system blares sharp, once, twice.

“Assemble,” Steve says instead, visibly shaking his head, shoulders pulling up.

Tony flings himself from the room with the mug still clutched in his hands.

Thank god for villains.

 

\---

 

Later, after doomboots and supposedly not angry sex and facing giggle-whispers of grown ass adult superheroes for a debrief, they pull themselves together enough to clean themselves off the quinjet and fall into bed.

“Should talk,” Steve mumbles, as he scrubs with a few antiseptic wipes.

“Later, gator,” Tony tries to say, mostly just hums against the pillow.

It’s a dead-drop of 10 hours of dreamless sleep and mind-numbing 5 hours of meetings before Tony meanders back into their room. Steve is draped over the window settee like he’s the model instead of the artist.

“Hey French girl,” Tony says, pulling at his tie.

“What does that make you?” Steve asks, eyes peeking over the edge of his tablet. His legs are crossed at the ankles, skin bare and Victorian tantalizing from the edge of his joggers down.

“Patron of the arts.” Tony moves into the closet so he doesn’t have to stare at Steve’s ankles.

Steve follows him.

“Would you dress me up for pictures, then?”

Tony closes his eyes briefly to scream silently at the images that draws up. Steve is a fucking menace.

He breathes out, forces himself to be calm.

“In jewelry?” Steve pushes.

And ah. Here they go.

The offensive begins. Defensive systems engage.

“You don’t wear jewelry,” Tony says, pointedly taking off his two sets of Mateo diamond studs, his favorite Tateossian Gulliver watch and third favorite Margiela bracelet.

Steve watches him, like he always does.

Tony makes sure to take his time, pulling out the pin on the watch band, tugging the band back to let it fall free hard enough his skin turns white, hard enough for Steve to make a quiet sound. Half a smile curling on his face, Tony sets the pieces carefully into their places in his collection.

“Always liked your jewelry, Tony,” Steve says, voice rough. Like Tony doesn’t know.

“I know,” Tony leans his head to the side, “But you don’t like it for you.”

“I like _your_ jewelry,” Steve repeats, voice staccato.

The green Hublot watch has a stray hair on it. Tony brushes it off.

When he looks up, Steve is watching him with those god-awful blue eyes.

“Gonna give me my ring?” _My ring_. He says it soft, lingering.

Tony smooths his hands down his sides. “Quite presumptuous of you, isn’t that.”

“I basically ripped the suit off to have sex with you yesterday because of it.”

“So that _was_ angry sex.”

Sighing, Steve crosses his arms. Great biceps, this one. Tony has excellent taste.

“That was, you implied you had a ring for me sex. If you don’t. . .” Steve trails off, pointed.

Strategic stalemate.

If he says no, Steve will be crushed. If he says yes and doesn’t like it, Tony will be crushed.

But, Tony's always committed himself to leaps of faith without failsafes and all magic 8 signs point to 'Okay.'

“I didn’t consult your JC Penny watch aesthetic about the design,” Tony says, tapping at the side of the jewelry case. 4 sharp, 2 second pause, 1, 1 second pause, 2. He pulls out the small case from its hidden compartment in the watch box.

“But you have one?” Steve’s hand drifts forward like he can’t help it.

Tony hesitates, fiddling with the smooth rim of the case. It didn’t make sense to do square, neither of them has ever been overly square and circles said something to them both. A small sound, and Tony looks up to see Steve staring at the case, the evident craftsmanship of it.

“How long have you had it?”

Tony twists the case back and forth. 2 years, 3 months, 4 days, he thinks. Enough time for 3 upgrades.

“A while,” he admits.

Steve nods, like that makes sense. Then takes a deep breath and asks, gentle-like, “Did you want to propose to me?”

Shunting away the burst of panic that sends through Tony, he hooks his thumbs into his pockets and leans back on his heels. Calm, he is calm.

“Is that what you want?”

Rings symbolize marriage. Everyone knows that. Just because the thought makes Tony break out in a sweat, make him clench his fingers into fists, doesn’t mean it doesn’t mean that.

They haven’t had this conversation a lot. Once, when Tony was just coming out from the hospital and made a gag about if Steve wanted to claim the king-of-hill-Tony title, he’d have to usurp Rhodey as medical proxy by marrying Tony.

But, Steve had just adjusted his grip on Tony’s wheelchair and said, “It’s not legal in this state, and I wouldn’t make you do that.”

And that was that.

“I said I wouldn’t make you,” Steve says, hard, eyes distant and remembering too.

“I know, but do you _want_ to?”

Tony would give Steve anything, of course. That’s not the issue.

Steve tilts his head, watches Tony’s face for a long moment. “I want your ring,” he says finally. “That’s enough for me.”

They’re enough, as they are.

Exhaling, Tony nods back. “Okay.” He’s trying to learn to take Steve’s word at face value.

He hands over the case. 

“Thank you,” Steve says, catching Tony’s hand as he tries to pull away quick.

Squeezing back makes Steve smile so Tony does it twice before dropping his hand. Steve’s still smiling as he looks down at the case, eyes soft. He rubs a thumb over the stylized engraving of their initials.

When he opens the case, Tony wonders for a second if he’s going to cry.

“Tony,” he whispers, fingers tracing over it, “It’s beautiful.”

Clearing his throat, Tony shrugs a bit, refuses to admit his heartbeat is too fast or his eyes too wet.

“I’ve never seen a ring like this,” Steve lifts it out of the case delicately between his thumb and index finger.

There’s no other ring in existence like this, because Tony made this one. Months of reworking models, smelting and polishing with minute diamond drill bits, finagling the circuit system, playing with different boring tips, different weaves, lacing the rose gold-titanium alloy as tight, as adaptable as possible while the suits watched him from across the workshop. This ring has its own OS. It would have its own manual if Tony bothered with those sorts of things.

Tony made this ring for Steve because nothing else would do. Because Tony could do nothing less.

They both know it, but Tony can’t say it. That would be too much. That would be admitting to wanting too much.

"It uhm," Tony says instead, taking the case from Steve and setting it on the dresser, "folds flat, too."

"It folds?"

"For, just so you," Tony waves his hand vaguely, "can wear it under the uniform, you know. Without, worrying. That’s why the metals link the way they do, why it looks like that."

Steve stares at him for a moment. “What else does it do?”

Because _obviously_ it does do other things.

“Aside from put every other designer on earth and maybe Chandilar to shame?” Tony quips, “Just some stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Superhero stuff. Satellite triangulation. Avengers systems access. Impact distribution, you know.”

Steve raises an eyebrow.

“Cause,” Tony tries not to let it in his voice how much the thought horrified him in construction. That Steve would wear the ring and punch something and it would break him, instead. “It’s designed to break, if you met another force with too much force. If not, it’ll distribute good. But, yeah it’ll break because it’s no big deal. There are others exactly the same.”

Four, to be exact. Though two of them aren’t up to spec.

Steve’s expression has gone vaguely horrified.

“No, I want this one,” Steve pulls it away from Tony like he’s gonna grab it back that instant.

“You can have it, I’m just saying,” Tony tugs at his own hair, “You don’t have to worry, cause there are other ones.”

“I won’t wear it when I fight. I want to keep this one,” Steve says.

Tony’s breath catches, because Steve’s holding the ring infinitely gently and everything on his face looks like he wants to add a ‘ _Forever’_ to the end of that sentence.

“Will you –” Steve trails off, looking from the ring to Tony.

He wants Tony to put the ring on him.

Tony, world renowned mechanic, able to hit a tennis ball on a string with over 40 hand-held weapons, annual Avengers-game-night _operation_ gold medalist 7 years running, has to clasp his hands together to keep them from shaking.

Christ, they’re the people the world trusts to save them every week?

Tony exhales long and good and goes to Steve. He takes the ring gently, settles Steve’s bigger hand in his and lines up the ring to the third finger. Symbolic. Tale as old as nuptial myth.

He glances up at Steve to find him staring intently.

“Yeah?” he asks, low, just once more.

“Yes,” Steve says.

Tony slides the ring on.

“It’s a perfect fit,” he says, keeping his voice nonchalant.

God, he was right. It looks gorgeous. All highlights and accents and just enough blunt tungsten and revealed fibers to be real and not too fancy. It reveals itself, is obvious. Could come from no one else and be for no one else.

Tony’s a fucking genius and no wonder Steve jumped his fucking bones, this is so good.

He never wants Steve to take it off.

Steve laces their fingers together to tug them out of the closet and whoa boy, there’s some more symbolism Tony thinks. A squeeze to his palm and Steve lets go to get at the nightstand on his side of the bed.

A sneaking, impossible suspicious builds in Tony. He stays where he is as Steve digs around and causes a jingle noise and then turns back around. Steve’s army tall, then, shoulders back, expression serious as he comes back to Tony.

“And I want you to keep these,” he says, and in his hands are his retired service dog tags.

U.S. Army 1940s notched tags were nothing special. Rationing and too many soldiers and only 17 characters per line. These have STEVEN G ROGERS, a laughable simple O for blood type, a nearly worn off C for Catholic.

They’re ugly, really. Beat up and scarred by bullets and time that has left Steve untouched.

Tony wants them so bad.

“Steve –”

Tony’s not sure what to say.

‘ _You shouldn’t_ ’ will get him anger and frustration. But ‘ _I shouldn’t_ ’ will get him pity and admonition.

“Tony.” The dog tags jingle as Steve steps closer, like a taunt. Daring him to say anything against them.

It’s not _them_ Tony has a problem with.

He swallows and nods.

Steve beams and reaches up, to slip it over Tony’s head, kissing him as soon as the chain moves past his lips. He’s helpless against that. Eyes closing, he leans into Steve, breathes in his sharp foresty cologne, nearly doesn’t feel when the tags drop to Tony’s chest so Steve can press one hand to Tony’s neck and the other to the bottom of his spine. It sends the tension swirling out of his body.

 _Too easy, Stark_ , Tony thinks to himself.

He slides his palms across Steve’s pecs to hear him moan, to feel the sharp reciprocal bite to his bottom lip. To feel Steve’s tongue follow the bite, smooth and teasing. Tony’s hands move to press against Steve’s back, the steel of Steve’s shoulder blades. Pulls them closer together so Steve is just one familiar wall of heat and want against Tony.

Steve pulls away eventually with a slick sound, “S’okay?”

He looks at Tony for a moment, before his eyes flicker down, lock on the chain innocently looped around Tony’s neck.

Tony looks down, only means to glance but – Steve is still holding onto the chain. The links are loops around his scuffed knuckles. It would be so simple for Steve to just _tug_ and Tony would be pulled forward. And Tony would follow, would have to, desperately, burningly wants to.

What has he ever wanted more than Steve’s hands on him?

Tony swallows, dry.

It’s not even that it’s hot, although it is. Like blisteringly.

Like that time Steve kept them both on their knees for so long, kept Tony’s hair tight in his fist, kept the pace of their fucking soft and languorous until Tony thought he might lose his mind from it. Almost an hour, Tony inside Steve and Tony tumbling down, down the rabbit hole into something more molten than lust.

Killing me softly, Tony had whisper-sang after, high as a Blackbird.

Fuck, but it’s that and more, and different.

Because this isn’t just sex. This isn’t just their bodies coming together in a pleasing but ultimately ephemeral way. It’s them. This is them, Tony building in circles, building in hopes and dreams for a future that may never come to the present. This is Tony working his heart with his hands. This is Steve, giving his mind, body and soul to fight his way to the front of a winless war, to protect, to honor. This is Steve finding his way back to life with nothing but bent metal to tell him his own name.

This is Steve finding his home in Tony. This is Tony finding his future in Steve.

He can’t talk.

Steve is watching him. Soft, easy, _loving_.

There’s billions of dollars in Tony’s bank account and he would give every penny away for this look. For this man.

Steve kisses him again.

“Thank you,” Tony tries to say, loses it against Steve’s soft lips, is almost glad for it. He’s breathing hard through his nose. Steve’s hand is still holding the tags.

“You’ll wear them?” Steve asks.

“Won’t take them off,” Tony says, embarrassingly honest.

Steve mumbles happily and pulls Tony back into a kiss, deeper and deeper. Kissing Steve is like swimming in the ocean, Tony thinks, easy and open and sunshine through your atoms. He should figure out how to power a suit on it.

“What if,” Tony wonders out loud, “Molecule Man disapparates all my gear again and I’m just left with these tags?” A valid question but also testing the waters of this, of them, publicly. They’ve skirted the edges of it, played with it, sometimes given a conservative paper a good kick in the face. But that’s a bit different than this.

The ring and dog tags are distinctive.

“People will think Steve Rogers is one handsome fella,” Steve says, sucking at the underside of Tony’s jaw. He works his way down to Tony’s collar, teeth catching occasionally.

Tony’s head drops forward against Steve’s shoulder.

“Or,” Steve whispers, lips pressing kisses to the oversensitive lobe of Tony’s ear, the tender skin of his temple, “maybe that you belong to a real lucky fella, this Steve Rogers.”

“Christ,” Tony bucks up, can’t help himself, “You used to be so vanilla.”

“Shhh. Don’t lie.” Steve’s hand clamps over Tony’s mouth, careful not to press over his nose. Sucking in air like he’s dying anyways, Tony wraps his hand around Steve’s wrist. It’s Steve’s left hand. The cold of the ring presses firm against Tony’s lip.

Oh god.

It’s like the worst tease, like the best gratification.

Steve is wearing his ring.

He wants to open his mouth, lick at the line of Steve’s strong fingers, pull them into his mouth. The ring would be cold, clacking against his teeth, textured under his tongue. There’s no way Steve wouldn’t be vocal about it. Maybe, he would even press the heel of his hand to Tony’s chin, curl his fingers and order Tony to keep his fingers in his mouth while Steve unzipped Tony with his free hand.

“What are you thinking of?” Steve asks, voice stretched low.

“Mm,” Tony hums. “We should explore our new equipment. Sexually. For science.”

He’s not sure how much makes it through Steve’s hand, but Tony’s fingers inching down Steve’s body, catching on the muscles of his stomach, teasing the line of his joggers, should be communicative enough.

“Specifically?” Steve asks, nudging to try and get Tony’s hand to go lower.

Tony rolls his eyes dog to the tags in Steve’s hand, back up to Steve’s eyes, raises his eyebrows.

A moment, where Steve’s hand clenches and he reads what Tony’s putting forward, reads Tony’s body so easily. Steve moves behind Tony, careful to keep his hand as much over his mouth as he can. When he tugs gently on the chain, the links slither up Tony’s neck, tug tight and pull a groan from deep in his chest. His mouth presses lightly to the space just behind Tony’s ear.

Tony lets himself relax back into it. They’re marked for each other and Steve is at his back.

“Like this?”

“Yes,” Tony says.

Just like that.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SO this took so much extra time! bc this fic is becoming is literally 2.5x longer than i ever dreamed it would be, so. lmfao. rip me. one more chapter after this. maybe. whom knows for sure.
> 
> lines of dialogue and some of tony's 'i'll win this' ideas in this are from my loveperson/tumblr user [littleclouds](http://littleclouds.tumblr.com). thank you darling!

Two days of a lot of good sex and lot of good screeching from Peter walking in on them later, Tony comes back to the whole “not wearing it while fighting” thing.

“It’s really not one of a kind, you know.”

Steve flips him into the mat and taps lightly at his winded chest.

“You’re hurting my feelings, Tony,” Steve says, all calm and unbothered.

Sweat is pooling in places Tony forgets he has until these sessions. Air has not returned to his lungs. There’s a well-earned bruise on his collar where Steve got him with a jab when he didn’t pull back fast enough.

“ _I’m_ hurting _you_?” Tony gasps out.

“Is this what’s distracting you today?,” Steve grumbles and a pointed huff and a light punch hits his arm.

“No.”

Practice breathing, that’s it.

“No?”

“No.”

Tape sounds as Steve unravels his hands. Tony watches upside down as he dumps it in the trash and pulls on the afore-argumented ring from its safe place on the bench. Steve stares at it for a moment.

“Do you _want_ me to break it?”

“No,” Tony says, rolling his eyes at the ceiling.

The mat thumps as Steve flops down next to him. Finally accepting Tony isn’t going anywhere until he gets a fourth wind, maybe. Steve’s sleeve brushes Tony’s arm distractingly.

“I mean I know you like field tests but.”

“It’s not that.”

“Tell me.” The Captain voice comes out to play.

Tony rolls his instinctual _No._ over his tongue for a while. Catching his breath, he defends.

Steve’s arm presses against his, the sweat sticking them together almost instantly.

 _Well, that’s alright,_ Tony thinks.

“Do you think I don’t want it if don’t wear it all the time?”

It’s not that. It’s not.

Tony’s not sure how to explain that it means something different to wear it under uniform. Steve Rogers is only half of who Tony is in love with. And this ring may not mean marriage to Tony, but it’s not just sex, either.

“Does _all of you_ actually want it?” he mutters, trying to prevent any emotion from slipping through. It comes out like he’s using a colander with holes a yard wide.

Steve spots it right away. He rolls, left leg swinging over Tony’s and hands catching Tony’s at his sides and drawing them up over his head. Trapping him close. He balances on Tony’s thighs, body hot and clinging where he leans close.

 _No objections, your honor,_ Tony thinks, wry and laces their fingers together.

“Tony, this is me,” Steve presses down on Tony’s palms, the ring heavy and cutting into their knuckles. “I want it.”

“I know,” _but it isn’t all of you._

Tony’s greedy. He’s always known that.

“What do you want?” Steve’s pretty eyes search his face, narrowing. Stubbornness etches under his eyes and along his jaw. Captain Rogers, skilled in tactics, free falling and wearing people down through sheer bullheadedness. It should be annoying, not endearing.

But Tony’s wearing his goddamn dog tags around his neck, so the chances of it being annoying probably flew out the window a long time ago.

“It wouldn’t hurt your hand if you wore it and punched the Wrecking Crew in the face,” Tony says, shrugging as much as he can while pinned. He’s had a surprising amount of practice. “Even if you didn’t have gear on.”

“You want me to punch the Wrecking Crew while I’m wearing your ring?”

 _Your ring._ Never gets old.

“You don’t want to punch them?” he says, though, “Thought you were one of the good guys, Cap.”

Steve levels a glare.

Tony makes kissie faces at him.

He sighs. “I wish I understood what goes through your head sometimes.”

“No, you don’t,” Tony’s sure of that.

Steve bites his nose.

“Uhm, ew.”

Steve bites at Tony’s neck where the chain of the dog tags runs.

“Uhm, okay.”

Laughing, Steve kisses him once and then props up again to stare at Tony. He looks terribly fond.

Tony plants one of his feet and shifts his hips. A smile beginning, Steve pulls back a little to let Tony have room, probably assuming Tony’s looking for a bit of grinding. His loss. Tony grins and takes advantage of the freedom to shove himself diagonal out of the cover of Steve’s body, breaking Steve’s hold on his wrists by twisting them down. He brings his knee up into Steve’s ribs at the same time and relishes his sound of pain.

He’s up and on his feet before Steve can recover.

One point to Iron Man.

“Hell,” Steve grunts and lunges up at Tony.

Laughing, Tony drops his weight back, lets Steve overshoot his hold.

They don’t bring it back up.

 

\---

 

“So,” Rhodey says, over the mess of his gauntlet.

“So la la,” Tony sings back, picking at a stubborn bit of shrapnel.

Rhodey raises an eyebrow in return.

Tony clears the shrapnel and moves on to a slagged bolt. The silence of the workshop is mildly oppressive. Rhodey watches him and watches him.

“I didn’t,” Tony says eventually. God forsake his friends.

“Didn’t propose,” Rhodey laughs when Tony tenses and Tony resists the urge to poke at Rhodey’s trapped arm with the flat head. “Or didn’t give Steve a ring?”

“Maybe he bought it himself,” Tony mutters, wrenching at the forearm plate.

“Nah,” Rhodey laughs some more.

“You’re mean,” Tony whines.

“Nah.”

They work in quiet for a bit, Rhodey chuckling to himself occasionally and Tony manfully ignoring it. They’ve uncovered up to Rhodey’s wrist when Tony gets the words right in his mouth.

“He won’t wear it when he’s being all caped crusader.”

“Hmm,” Rhodey hums. “You’re not wearing a ring at all,” he points out.

A bubby of pride makes its way up Tony’s chest, right where the dog tags lay, warm and hidden under Thor’s latest knitting experiment gone baby pink. This morning, like every morning since, Steve used the chain to reel Tony in after they’d gone through their morning routine. They’ve both begun absently playing with the tags so much, sometimes Tony will reach up to touch them and find Steve’s hand already there.

Tony’s never been a collar and leash fan, but as usual, Steve challenges his preconceptions about himself.

“Ugh,” Rhodey says, “Don’t ever tell me whatever that look was about.”

Tony sniffs, with dignity, “Carol would want to hear all about my very personal issues. She would help me deconstruct them.”

Rhodey gives him a patented No Tony, That Isn’t True look. “My girlfriend isn’t your therapist.”

Tony spares an idle thought as he pulls out a melted heat sink to wonder what Rhodey and Carol’s rings for each other will look like. He’s no psychic, but the statistics are good.

“I wish she was here, though,” Tony says instead, raising his eyebrows hopefully.

“And I ain’t your fairy godmother.” Rhodey shakes a cut-off a wire at him.

“Too bad, tootsy, you’d look great in a tutu.”

Rhodey smears grease all over his face when Tony doesn’t duck fast enough.

 

\---

 

The most annoying thing is that Steve really does wear it all the rest of the time and Steve really is worried about damaging it.

“You don’t have to take it off to do dishes,” Tony rolls his eyes and drops his dish in the soapy water, “It’s fine, Gordon Ramsay.”

Peter snickers from the counter.

“Complain and scrub, bub,” Steve shoves a sponge at Tony.

“Trademarked endearment, dear,” Tony balances the sponge on Steve’s head.

“Yeah, bub,” Logan adds, halfway in the fridge.

The glare Tony gets is definitely worth the not-angry sex he’s gonna have tonight.

 

\---

 

“Why am I getting attacked for the ring,” Steve complains, the next movie night, after Tony has successfully navigated the non-action scenes conversation to the ring, “when Tony’s not getting attacked for the dog tags.”

“Hardly an attack, Cap-eroni,” Tony snorts. 

“Mmghm,” Peter says around a handful of flavored popcorn.

On screen, Ewan does a dashing display of lightsaber work and Tony forces himself to not think about lasers or crystals, lest he start another argument over this one he’s more invested in.

“It’s because Tony is creepy enough about them.”

Tony sticks his tongue out at Rhodey for that. Rude.

“Tony is _always_ wearing the dog tags,” Logan looks constipated. Maybe it’s all the emotions in the air. “You can’t get Tony to take them off. You could saw off his neck and Tony would keep the tags on.”

“Uh,” Jess puts in, “Gross?”

“Are we volunteering to cut Tony’s head off again?” Jessica Jones asks, walking in.

“Not just yet,” Sam says, around his third bagel.

Tony ignores them to turn to Steve, who looks like he’s instead trying to ignore the entire world.

“It’s true. Even in death I’m all yours, dearest,” Tony bats his eyelashes at Steve.

The whole room groans and drowns him out.

“That’s the least comforting thing I’ve heard all week, just so you know,” Steve says later, “and we got monologued by Kang on Monday and SHEILD reported they’ve got an info leak about AIM bases yesterday.”

“Mmf,” Tony says back.

“Are you ever gonna leave off this?”

“Nng.”

Steve sighs and pulls his fingers out of Tony’s mouth. Tony bites at them to try and make them stay. He pays special attention to the ring for a second, tonguing over the different textures, before Steve pulls his arm away to brace it beside Tony’s head for better leverage. Unlike the easy rocking of the last 20 minutes, this time his hips push up with enough force to make Tony brace himself against the headboard.

“Not if this is your response to it, no,” he pants.

“I’m easy,” Steve agrees and pushes both of their legs wider so he can grab at the chain around Tony’s neck with the hand that isn’t braced, swinging the tags to slap against Tony’s back. He’s been letting the tags hang down, a metallic percussion with every one of Steve’s thrusts. Like this, though, he can watch them against Tony’s skin.

“But so are you,” Steve finishes.

Tony’s making noise even before Steve twists the chain so it’s carefully taut against Tony’s neck. He pulls backward and Tony’s entire body arches. They both like to hear the tags, sure. But, they also both really like this. Steve tugs back a bit more on the chain, gentle and so, so firm.  

The next thrust is perfectly deep, brutally circular against Tony as Steve rolls his hips.

Tony bites down on Steve’s forearm so he doesn’t scream as he comes.

Steve bends down to kiss his back gently.

 

\---

 

Two weeks in, Tony decides collective action is the answer.

He pencils it in during the Avengers weekly meeting, cuts 10 minutes from their usual Wait For Clint To Arrive time.

“Next on the schedule,” Tony says, in an official voice.

The table eyes him suspiciously, which really is uncalled for. Last thing he added to the docket had been the bimonthly froyo funhouse initiative.

“Don’t we all agree –”

“No.”

“Nuhuh.”

“ _No_ ,” Steve stresses.

“We all agree,” Tony continues, “that since I’ve taken Steve’s sign of love into myself –”

“Fucking –”

“ _Stop_.”

“Gross.”

Jess and Ororo look at each other and walk out.

“Into my armor,” Tony amends, demurely.

“I knew you fucking redesigned the chest plate,” Steve crows, crossing his arms.

He winces. Didn’t mean to confirm that. Whoops. Only 7 million dollars to create support for dogtags and ensure their safekeeping against his chest. It's not like he spent a furtive 2 days working on nothing but that. It's not like he specifically reworked the construction so that he can hear the slightest jingle of tags when he walks, if he listens for it. Its not like he _needs_ to listen for it, to know he's still got them safe.

Tony cleanly sidesteps the issue by switching to the next holo-display. “Anyways! We all agree Steve ought to do the same with his lovely ring, yes?”

“No.”

Two more people get up and leave.

“God, that’s disgusting.” Logan chugs a beer.

“Yeah, when are you just gonna get married, Mom and Dad?” Peter simpers.

“Make an honest wife out of Stark, yes,” Thor joins in, and booms a laugh.

Steve sighs and rubs at his face with both of his hands.

“Today’s breaking news,” Tony hears him mumble, “All the Avengers mysteriously dead in their beds. Sources say it was well earned.”

Tony cackles.

“Super villain origin stories are so sexy, baby,” Tony says, smacking a kiss to Steve’s ear. He smells like pine needles. Tony lingers.

Steve turns to kiss him with a sigh, breathing out against Tony’s lips, then inhaling Tony’s air. It’s a neat trick. Very Victorian romantic interest. Tony expresses his admiration with two more kisses.

“Limit: One PDA A Day policy still in effect!” Peter shouts. “You owe the jar 2 dollars.”

“Kill him first,” Tony whispers to Steve.

Eyes bright and wide, Steve smiles slowly at him. “Oh but, first I’d have to take off my ring, darlin’.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He shoves away from the table.

Someone laughs. Tony holds his head high as he walks out of the room. With dignity.

“Don’t want to get blood on it,” Steve calls after him.

“Divorcing you!” Tony calls back.

 

\---

 

They’re quiet, sometimes.

Sometimes, they don’t argue about it.

When, after a week that spans three countries and seven governments and five identities between them, they have a night home – things are quiet. Tony watches the water boil for pasta and Steve finishes chopping onions and comes up beside Tony and leans into him.

They sway.

Tony wraps his arm around Steve’s waist, locks his fingers into the beltloop on Steve’s jeans. Steve’s arm finds its place around Tony’s chest, and his hand comes around to rest over top the tags, just there, just for a long minute. A soft clink of metal on metal sounds over the roll of boiling water. Tony’s head on Steve’s and Steve’s on Tony’s shoulder and both of them listening to the simple, beautiful reality of each other’s existence.

Then, the timer goes off for the chicken and Steve kisses the scraped-up top of Tony’s shoulder and Tony rubs his nose into the soft sunlight down of Steve’s hair and they ease apart.

Those times, it’s easy.

 

\---

 

Other times, it’s tetchy.

Tony’s in the middle of edging Steve with their favorite vibrator when a new avenue occurs to him.

He pauses while pulling it out and leans his right arm more heavily into Steve’s wonderful plump ass. The dog tags slide forward along the inside of Steve’s thigh. He shivers beautifully.

“Do you know,” Tony starts, staring at Steve’s ass.

“Don’t you dare,” Steve says, mumbled from under his sweaty, quivering arm muscles.

“I could make the mansion and Avengers systems only accessible through rings.”

“Ton –”

“I could call them _key rings_.”

Steve sighs.

“Then, you’d have to wear it in uniform!” Tony finishes with gusto and gives Steve a good bite to his meaty hip.

“Go get a ball-gag,” Steve says, pushing Tony out of bed.

 

\---

 

Somehow, it comes up in a low key tussle with some aliens that mistake Peter’s pink pajamas for an insult.

They didn’t know pink was a color of superiority, Steve explains to the prickly aliens, holding out his big hands. Peter will put his suit in a drawer beside him no matter where he is sleeping in the future, Steve explains, as a warning to all of them while Tony fidgets in his underoos in the suit. Peter will also not ever bind while sleeping unless he wants to seriously damage his ribs, Steve explains, one narrowed eye on Peter’s chest as Tony pats his flushed cheek.

The joke Tony makes about how Steve and him should have distracted the aliens with a fun oral something that makes Steve pleasantly pink, instead, really gotten bang for their buck –

Is maybe inappropriate.

Tony can admit that, just yunno. In his own head, not out loud.

“The ring is just for me and you and it’s delicate and _priceless_ ,” Steve says, in the safety of the workshop, ring and suit and tie neatly on.

“Just for me and you and our sex lives,” Tony snips, “And it is not delicate. It’s the most resilient, non-evil ring in existence.”

“It’s breakable. It’s like,” Steve pulls at his hair.

It makes him look well fucked, not ready to go to a charity banquet. Tony doesn’t feel like pointing it out.

“Like?” he prompts, instead.

“Like –“ Steve exhales and waves his hands like that will explain it.

“Oh brilliant,” Tony says, snide. “Really explanatory.”

“Like a baby,” Steve hisses.

Silence.

Tony stares at the blueprints in front of him.

“What?”

When he finally looks up, it’s to see Steve’s face red, but his arms are crossed and his jaw is set.

Dear god, he’s _committed_.

“What?” Tony asks again, clutching at the edge of the hologram too hard. It starts trying to add a missile launcher to an ankle joint.

“What if the ring was a baby, would you want me to bring a baby with me to fight crime?”

“ _What?_ ” Tony says, a third time.

 

\---

 

Tony shows up to the next alien squid battle with a few guests in tow.

“Hey,” he says, leaning next to where Steve is unearthing his shield out of a cut off tentacle.

“You’re late,” Steve grunts.

“Yup,” Tony pops the word, “Had to pick up a few babies to bring into battle.”

Steve freezes.

Tony can see him mouthing numbers. He only gets to four before he turns to Tony finally and then freezes.

“Iron Man,” Steve says, voice climbing. “What is on your hip?”

Tony bobbles the baby up and down a few times and tries to look innocent while in a suit of armor that’s occasionally auto-firing on any tentacles that come too close. He probably doesn’t succeed.

“Shouldn’t you know what this is, Cap? You were the one that brought them up the other day.”

Someone is laughing themselves to hacking over the comms.

Steve’s face has gone pale and he jams a messy thumb at his comm a few times before he hits it off. Tony obliges him and turns his off as well, letting the baby play with a few of his fingers.

“What the fuck, Tony,” Steve hisses. His hands are clenching like he’d love nothing more than to grab onto Tony’s shoulders and shake him like a ragdoll.

If only there wasn’t a baby in the way.

Tony hums, “Well you said it wasn’t safe to wear your ring into battle because it would be like a bringing a baby into battle. Et, voila.” He raises the baby up and wiggles it a bit, “Totally safe.”

“Iron. Man.”

Tony huffs. “You’re so serious, Cap,” and then, because that shade of red on anyone can’t be healthy, Tony continues, “Babies are perfectly capable of protecting themselves, look,” and sets the baby on the ground between them.

Steve makes one disjointed step forward before the baby is shifting, twisting, expanding impossibly up into a green, massive winged shape that puts even Steve’s shoulders to shame. A purple and black body suit follows.

Teddy Altman’s face pops into view, a bit chagrin but still grinning, “Hey, Cap.”

Steve freezes again.

“Wave hello, kids,” Tony sing-songs and turns to wave at the rest of the Young Avengers in the thick of the fight, already covered in slime. Only Kate waves back. Logan takes the opportunity to return Tony’s wave with a raised middle claw. Classy, as always.

A group of tentacles lunges for the three of them then and Tony doesn’t get to linger in the glow of his own success, but no worry, he’ll get to it later.

Cap comes back on the comm to direct Spider-Man and War Machine into flanking position, but he points at Tony just once before he digs out his shield and jumps back into battle.

Tony grins and raises his hands.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

“That,” Steve throws open the bathroom door, “Was uncalled for.”

“They did good,” Tony defends.

Mostly. Kate and Billy definitely need sturdier gear. What are they thinking, a villain is gonna be sidetracked by those hips and not slash across their innards?

“This has gone over the top, Tony.”

“Has it?” Tony brushes off Steve’s hands and checks the shower temperature. It’s already warm, not enough to scalding, but enough to scrub, to pull off the last few hours.

Steve grabs Tony’s arm and holds on.

Tugged to a stop, one foot in the shower, Tony looks down at Steve’s hand and back up again.

“Yes, dear?” Tony’s voice comes out acidic, harsh.

The hand on his arm loosens. Steve’s face twists.

“Don’t,” he says, “Not like that.”

Tony’s turn to feel twisted then. He swallows hard.

“What, winghead?” His voice isn’t quite soft, isn’t quite tired, but. It’s trying.

Steve lets go of his arm to reach for the chain of the dog tags. He cups the messy metal in his palm, stares at it. Tony looks down at the ring next to the tags, the serendipity of the color compliment of the metals. He hadn’t meant to, but he matched to it, like colorpicking for a new mark upgrade.

Hand slowly closing around the tags, Steve catches Tony’s eyes, “What’s going on, really?”

If ever there was an allegory for them, he thinks, this is a stupidly accurate one. Unintentional and emotional fraught for no fucking reason. A modern marvel and a timeless wonder all knotted up together, covered by bruised skin.

Too serious, too sudden.

Tony bends his neck to kiss Steve’s knuckles gently.

“You should wash those out,” he whispers.

Steve and his silly blue eyes stare back and eventually, he nods.

He undresses as Tony pulls the last of the undersuit off, drops it onto the floor. Peeks of skin, healing and new, catch the corners of Tony’s eyes as he steps into the shower. The softstone floor is easy on his aching feet. He’s got his own scrapes and bruises, some from his own suit, as always.

They wash with a worn-familiar intimacy of their bare bodies and Tony’s hypoallergenic body wash they both use and their hands and legs and chests brushing as they murmur quietly.

In the end, Tony is leaning against the wall, head in his arms, face just barely turned.

“I just don’t get why you don’t want to wear it under your uniform,” Tony talks to the tile, “That’s what it’s designed for.”

A slight splash.

“I just don’t get why it’s a big deal,” Steve says, to Tony’s back.

His touch is light, like Tony might flee.

Tony shrugs against his hands, presses back into them, greedy for the feeling of the ring, back on Steve’s finger, back with them. He’s not sure he can say the words, _I don’t think all of you loves me all the time_ , because even if Steve did wear the ring under the uniform, Tony would still think that.

He’s created his own unwinnable battle, but he can’t stop fighting over it.

“I love you,” Steve says, quietly. The press of his mouth to Tony’s spine makes him shudder.

“I love you,” he says back, can’t not.

Steve’s hand comes around to press low on Tony’s stomach, ease them both together, wet skin against wet skin.

“Why is it a big deal?”

“You want it,” Tony tests out, rolls over his tongue.

“Yes. Of course.”

“But you don’t want to wear it all the time.”

A long pause, while Steve’s fingers spread and contract. “No,” he says, slowly.

“Then how am I supposed to believe that, that it’s all the time want?” His voice is too soft to be petulant, but he feels it. That same greed in his chest. Always wanting more. Always wondering if he could improve the ring, if he should change something, make this piece of him better so Steve would think it’s strong enough all the time.

Steve makes a quiet sound that’s part sigh and part a hum of frustration.

“That’s what – you don’t think I’m not telling the truth?”

“Not not true, just,” The tile digs into Tony’s wrists, “Mutable. Situation dependent.”

“Meaning not in the field because I’m not wearing the ring.”

No, yes. Maybe.

Tony shakes his head a tiny bit, and doesn’t say anything.

“What I’m saying is real all the time, Tony,” he presses the ring to Tony’s side, lightly, “This is real.”

This is real. This is real, he says, just like he used to. Like Tony is back down a bottle and Steve has one too-strong hand wrapped around his arm and is trying to stop Tony from drowning himself.

He glances back at Steve, feeling blank.

Steve’s got his eyes closed, like he doesn’t want to have to see Tony’s expression. The tightness of his jaw grinds at Tony.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Steve says.

Neither of them are much good saying sorry.

“No,” Tony turns back to the tile. He doesn’t wanna fight about this. Doesn’t wanna think about that part of him at all, ever. “You didn’t.”

They stand there, not moving until the showerhead indicator light switches over to blue standby and decreases the water flow. Tony watches the sprinkle of water.

Steve’s voice is hoarse when he finally answers, “I loved you in the suit almost before I loved you out of it. I love you in the field. I get,” he swallows and Tony can feel it against his skin, the catch of it, “I get angry and bullheaded and call you out, out there but, I don’t stop loving you through it.”

Tony closes his eyes.

“It’s,” Tony’s turn for his voice to hitch, “It’s not.”

“It is,” Steve says. “It is and I’m so sorry for every person who every loved you just as one shell of who you are. God,” Steve laughs wetly, and it’s not funny at all. Tony’s hand goes back to dig into Steve’s hip. “I wish I could hurt all of them for that.”

He doesn’t know what to say about that.

Most people, even the best ones he knows, fight with him, not _for_ him.

“If it’s on under the uniform, I’ve got to cover it up, it’s, it feels like hiding it - hiding us, being afraid of it. But, I don’t wanna hide it,” Steve says faintly. “I don’t wanna hide it and I don’t wanna mess it up. That’s all, Tony. I swear. It doesn’t mean anything else.”

Tony’s throat aches. The shower tile sticks to his skin.

Steve’s head tilts against the top of Tony’s shoulders. They breathe together.

“I know that you’re telling the truth,” Tony says, “It’s just. Me.”

It’s so hard to just.

Have to accept things. To not look for sense in the possibilities of what could be, what might be in the future. Tony feels like he’s constantly grasping at pieces of himself, trying to slot them into each other and see which way they fit best together, which way they will last the longest.

It’s less about Steve doing anything really, truly.

“I know you don’t always trust yourself, Tony,” Steve whispers, like he’s hearing Tony’s thoughts, reading his body, “But I do. I trust you. In the suit and out.”

Leftover water from the shower must be in Tony’s eyes. He keeps his head tucked to the wall. He pulls Steve as close as he can and catches the wet sound Steve makes in the center of his shoulders and trembles in the soft, soft, so soft press of Steve’s hands over his body.

Steve always holds the pieces of things Tony gives him like they’re precious.

Like _he’s_ precious.

Tony presses his fingers to the tense muscles of Steve’s thigh.

Okay.

 _Okay._ Facts. Breakdown.

_Situation, Iron Man?_

The ring doesn’t mean marriage to either of them. But it does mean something deeper, something both of them are so worried about breaking in some indefinable, unknowable way. They’re both yearning for a surety.

But, but the fact is, they already do have one.

Afterall, Tony’s got it hanging around his neck. Steve trusts him with that, with himself. Wanted them to show themselves publicly. Crowed that Tony redesigned the chest piece of the suit to keep the tags safe and with him always. 

So no, Tony doesn’t trust himself with himself, but.

But.

“I trust you,” Tony says. “I do.”

Steve’s chest presses all along his back, his lips catching at Tony’s ear. They shudder, together.

“I get it,” Tony says.

He does. He hopes. He trusts.

“Thank you,” Steve says and kisses Tony’s temple.

Tony turns in Steve’s arms carefully, keeping them as close as he can. Steve helps, slips their bodies against each other and looks Tony in the eyes as soon as he’s all the way around.

The avengers alarm goes off just as Tony is reaching out to Steve’s face.

They freeze.

The alert runs through a full cycle and then starts again.

“I fucking hate villains,” Tony says.

“We’re gonna have to put on slimed gear,” Steve says, closing his eyes briefly in disgust.

They’re still naked in the shower. They really ought to be moving.

“After?” Tony asks, just to check.

“It’s a date,” Steve says, kissing Tony’s cheek once, his lips.

Steve leaves the ring on the bathroom counter and Tony sighs lightly. They do indeed have to put on slimed on gear, but it’s alright because it’s the tentacles again. It’s ugly, messy and when Peter executes something he calls the calamari-whipow, no one even objects.

Except the police on the street below them, but Tony doesn’t see them going up 50 stories to fight a flying squid so they can suck it up.

He’s half listening to the rant of the chief that cornered him against the sadly pristine glass of a bank, and half listening to the clean-up efforts reports from the team, when the sensors report a hand on his back, low and solid. Tony shunts off the comms and opens the face plate to look at Steve, who’s come up next to him.

“One moment, chief,” Steve says, politely, and then he’s bending all 193.3 kg of Tony and the suit backward and dipping his tongue into Tony’s mouth in a decidedly not polite way.

Tony takes one second to be flummoxed.

He takes the next 13 to be utterly enthralled and unabashed by wrapping his arms around Steve and kissing the sunny highlights out of him.

“Well,” he says when they separate.

Steve bumps their noses, “That work instead, shellhead?”

That work instead?

Instead of a ring under layers of cloth, maybe breaking Steve’s hand, worrying them both as he does his job.

A garden of joy blooms in Tony’s chest.  Instead, here is Steve, looking out for him in the field. Here is Steve, loving him in the field, loud and unabashed. Here, they're no different to each other.

“Hell,” Tony says, hands swinging happily behind Steve’s neck. “Yeah, alright.”

“Good,” Steve nods. “I’ll see you at our date.”

And bloody winks at Tony before letting him go and nonchalantly turning back to the police chief.

Tony watches the both of them walk towards the slime mess for a long time until Thor beeps impatiently at Tony’s comm and he has to go close up the sushi bar remains.

 

\---

 

They don’t slam into one another the second they get back to their shower in the mansion.

For one, they’ve had to dodge over interested press and unimpressed emergency services and deal with a snappy overworked team of superhumans for the last five hours and they’re _tired_. For another, the slime is literally disgusting and Tony wants it off of him.

“I’m never forgiving Thor _or_ you,” he grumbles.

Steve chuckles and flips the shower as hot as it will go.

Tony allows it for 12 seconds before he flips it back to less lava-like. Humming, Steve just reaches around Tony for the body soap.

“You’re in fine form,” Tony pinches at his side.

Steve catches his hand and squeezes it before dumping a dollop of soap in it, “It is a bit amusing I bamboozled you good enough you forgot to put up the faceplate before Thor threw a friendly slime volley, I’ll admit.”

“No, it’s not,” Tony slaps the soap on Steve’s body. His pecs twitch and Tony rubs a soapy thumb over his nipple.

Steve shudders and twists out of his grasp.

“That good, huh?”

“No, you still have slime everywhere. You’re gross.”

“You’re gross,” Tony gripes and flings more soap at him.

The soap fight is entirely expected.

At least they’re pretty clean by the end of it though. Tony’s had his hands behind Steve’s ears, over his abs, down his calves, pressing to the secret sensitive spots at the sides of his ribs under his arms.

Steve hums and pulls Tony a bit more under the spray.

“Shampoo.”

Tony hands it over and lets Steve go to work. His hands are magical like this. Circles and strong lines, sweeping all the tension and remaining stickiness out of Tony’s hair easily. He lathers twice, lets Tony be floppy and keeps the water out of his face for rinses.

“S’good,” Tony mumbles, somewhere at the end of it.

Steve kisses his neck. “Glad.”

“That,” Tony mumbles, “The kiss, in the street, that was. . .”

“Good too?” Steve’s voice is soft.

Tony nods, presses his mouth to the closest part of Steve.

The hum is a little louder this time, a little more contemplative. Steve’s steady hands begin to wander downward, one of them catching across Tony’s chest. Their favorite. There’s no clink of metal though.

“One sec,” Steve whispers and he disappears for 3 seconds before he’s back, pressing closer to Tony, wrapping their bodies together again.

A clink of metal, this time.

Tony sighs, brings a hand up to touch Steve’s at his chest.

When Steve edges around, pushing lightly at Tony’s torso, nudging him back against the wall, Tony goes without a fuss. It’s comfy, like this. Nice, strong non-slip tile at his back and soft flex under his feet and the hard, happy muscle of Steve in front of him.

His eyes flitter open just in time to see Steve sliding to his knees, all liquid motion. He’s got the ring off, in between his fingers like the first time he looked at it. As his knees land, he’s slipping the metal in between his lips, pushing his tongue through the ring.

Tony jolts awake.

“Oh god.”

Steve grins around the glimmer in his mouth.

Tony mutters something incoherent and can’t decide if he wants to try and support himself more against the wall, or dig his nails into Steve’s _everything_ and pull him as close as possible.

Then, Steve starts to lean forward, eyes straight ahead where Tony is definitely showing heating up with appreciation for this display. His mouth is slightly open and Tony can see the ring as Steve rolls it on his tongue.

_He’s going to –_

“I would die,” Tony grabs at Steve’s shoulders. “I would _die_. But also if you choked on it and I killed you I literally would die.”

“I have a very,” Steve pauses, lips curling up, “athletic tongue."

Resisting the urge to let his eyes flutter shut like a b-movie romcom protagonist, Tony exhales, “I _know_.”

Vividly.

Steve runs his hands lightly up the back of Tony’s thighs, teasing. Tony’s entire bottom half feels hyper sensitive. Blood rush against the laws of gravity. He’s flushed and the shower’s switched to stand-by.

“You don’t want to fuck me?” he asks, voice going low without his permission.

He would like that. Steve pressing up against him, maybe holding him down, kissing him. Steve wouldn’t possibly choke on a ring.

“I fuck you a lot,” Steve says, his index fingers tucking themselves along the curve of Tony’s ass, tips brushing Tony’s inner thighs. His hands are so big. Tony doesn’t clench up but it’s a close thing.

“You do,” his voice is hoarse. “Are you getting tired of it?”

Tony makes sure he lowers his lashes as he looks down at Steve. He lets his weight press back into Steve’s hands, the delicious calloused skin pressed to the top of his thigh like the best tease. As he shifts, the dog tags move, too. The slightest jingle of metal that Steve’s eyes lock onto.

His eyes dilate as Tony watches and lust curls itself languidly in Tony’s stomach.

“This is cheating,” Steve sounds like he’s under the same spell.

“Never battle on even ground if you don’t have to,” Tony murmurs. “Shouldn’t you know that, soldier?”

Steve’s teeth catch the blue of the shower light, reflect the blue of the ring, as he grins. He tightens his grip and moves closer, dragging his front just barely against Tony’s legs.

“I think I prefer the head-on approach,” he says.

The ring slides over Tony’s skin like a brand when Steve swipes his tongue over Tony’s v-line. He shakes. Suuure, Steve was the one who complained about safety for fucking ever for the sake of the ring, but when oral comes to oral. . . Tony would say look at him now, but he doesn’t want other people to see this Steve.

This Steve is just for him.

The thought runs lighting down his spine.

Steve murmurs an appreciation and sucks at Tony’s hip, just above the wet heat of him, and Tony’s hips yearn to press forward, to let Steve put that mouth where they both want it.

“This is dangerous,” Tony grits out.

“Live on the wild side,” Steve digs his thumb nail into Tony’s soft skin. “Aren’t you a superhero, Iron Man.”

“Ohhh,” Tony breathes out. “ _This_ is cheating.”

“Mhm,” Steve looks up at Tony from under his eyelashes, “You gonna throw me out for it?”

Tony’s chest flutters. He feels so hot. _Steve_ is so hot.

“You,” his voice is hoarse and he locks his knees, locks his hand into Steve’s hair, “You gonna eat me out for it?”

“Yes,” Steve says and presses a kiss to Tony’s wet, scarred thigh.

Tony exhales sharply.

Steve starts kissing his way up.

“If I,” Tony takes a deep breath, “wanna argue for old times sake, sometimes?”

“For good, not-angry sex’s sake?” Steve pulls away from Tony’s skin just enough to ask, and then goes right back to it. His teeth dig into the scars just right.

“That, yeah.”

That and more.

"Think that'd be alright, then," Steve mumurs, glances up like a lance to Tony's heart.

 _Push back,_ Tony thinks and clenches his hand in Steve’s hair and gives himself to Steve’s hands and mouth. _Always push back against me fighting my own self. Always pull me to you._

Everything after that is snapshots:

Steve’s hand on the inside of Tony’s knee, pulling his knee over Steve’s own shoulder.

Holding him steady with two fingers hooked inside him.

Tony’s fingernails digging into the back of Steve’s neck.

The slick cool metal of the ring against the burning tender skin of Tony’s inner thigh.

Steve’s mouth.

The dog tags shaking.

Hand on himself, Steve groaning as he tastes Tony.

Coming against the feeling of the ring against him, slick and reckless, so fucking delicious.

Them clinging to each other.

Them balancing each other out.

 

\---

 

Tony never does convince Steve to wear the ring under his uniform.

They argue about it in inappropriate places like when Doom attacks or when the press junket pushes about their social life or when the latest Skrull-whoever war spills over onto Earth.

And through it all, there’s a new series of clicks in the suit when he walks and Steve always gets this stubborn delighted look when Tony starts up the argument and Tony’s just doesn’t mind anymore.

Because when he thinks about it, he’s lost track of the times Steve’s taken his hand in public, or called him a pet name in a team meeting or kissed him as soon as the faceplate clears. Tony’s lost count of the times they’ve been split up and Steve has come on a private comm channel to say “ _Hope for the best, Tony. Plan for the worst. Know that I love you,”_ the number of times Tony has responded, _“Be safe, beloved.”_

In the field, they are back to back, heart to heart.

One day, down the road, scrubbing debris off their clothes and out of their eyes, a reporter asks, “Are you two ever going to get legally married?”

Tony shrugs.

Steve offers them a hand up.

It’s another Tuesday.

They’re just them, trouble-sewn, but hopeful. They’re just them, left repulsor up and shield to shoulders. They’re just them, dirt covered and sweat marked, headed back to the mansion to pull their armor off.

Just Steve, who tugs off his uniform and pulls on the ring with a soft sigh, like that's coming home. 

And just Tony, who makes space for him in their bed and holds his arms out, dog tags pressed warm over his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> if you're wondering about what the ring looks like, i imagine it to have bits and pieces of these rings in it: [a rose gold plating on a tungsten carbide ring base w carbon fiber inlay,](http://cdn.diamond-rings-and-wedding-bands.com/2017/02/King-Will-Mens-8mm-Tungsten-Ring-Rose-Gold-Plated-Wedding-Band-with-Black-Carbon-Fiber-Inlay-0-0-274x274.jpg) [but the fiber is woven with rose gold and titanium,](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/1168/5686/products/black-titanium-ring-with-yellow-and-black-carbon-fiber-inlay-and-beveled-edges-wholesale-titanium-rings-jewelry-main-photo.jpg?v=1462990720) [in a manner that's a little more smooth, with some cool conducted circuitry,](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/bf/53/37/bf5337b9d4696864d66a79631e4d4ada--rose-gold-weddings-gold-wedding-bands.jpg) [but with probably smaller, much less polished elements.](http://www.initalyweddings.com/img/gold-wedding-band-men-s-k-gold-and-oxidized-silver-wedding-band-rose-gold-mens-wedding-rings.jpg) [so the different metals of the ring are separate interlocked pieces,](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0272/8307/products/BVLGARI-Tri-Tone-Collapsable-Ring2_grande.jpg?v=1407871618) [and can collapse without losing integrity.](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0272/8307/products/BVLGARI-Tri-Tone-Collapsable-Ring3_grande.jpg?v=1407871618) which doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but that's what i've got lmfao.
> 
> also, these are the listed designers i like to imagine tony in. more jewelry!tony pls: [1](https://www.maisonmargiela.com/us/maison-margiela/men/jewels), [2](https://www.tateossian.com/tatusd/accessories/watches), [3](http://www.mateonewyork.com/earrings-1/)
> 
> tumblr post [[here]](https://starvels.tumblr.com/post/162727655656/). 
> 
> finally done! thanks for reading and sticking with it! likes, dislikes, critiques, opinions on the ring design ;) ?


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